


Wailing Wind

by gnosiophobic



Series: Footprints in the Snow [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnosiophobic/pseuds/gnosiophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perseverance.</p>
<p>As each foot sunk into icy hills of immaculate white, he cursed himself for acting so stupidly honorable.  <i>If Eddard Stark could see me now..</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wailing Wind

In just a few short hours, harsh winds had begun to chap his dry cheeks, snow piled, forming tall, pristine mounds about him, and Jaime’s loyal horse had finally fallen over in exhaustion.  That same steed proudly marched him away from his scheming twin, watched silently as he raised no arms against Fish or Wolf, and gracefully carried him further from his sordid past.  He had no choice but to leave the great beast behind and carry what little he could.  

As each foot sunk into icy hills of immaculate white, he cursed himself for acting so stupidly honorable.  _If Eddard Stark could see me now.._   He cursed himself for not fighting the idiotic urge to pay his debts, an impulse he thought left him long ago.  _Or perhaps my father_.But most of all, he cursed Ser Hyle Hunt for hastily storming off into a brewing blizzard.

The hedge knight had accidentally caught them in a passionate moment, one that Jaime usually tried to suppress and Brienne did not encourage.  It started as an innocent, chaste kiss in a darkened, unseen corner of the inn that turned to something else entirely when he pushed her against a sturdy wall of timber.  Shadows and promises of brief privacy lured him to her lips, but warmth and adoration kept him there longer than he’d intended.  He had been so enraptured by her mouth, by the still unexplored parts of smooth skin his hand found with each touch that only the sound of a metal pan clanging onto the scratched, wooden floor had interrupted them.  And truly, if Brienne hadn’t pushed away first, Jaime wasn’t sure he would have even heard the noise.

Hunt stood not ten steps away from them, brow furrowed, eyes wide.

“Why him?”  His eyes focused solely on Brienne.  “What greatness has he done?  A Kingslayer!  A treasonous sister-fucker!  A man who threatened to return Edmure Tully’s child with a trebuchet!  Doubt you even heard of that one, so stubborn and lost in your own head, convinced he’s some changed man.” _Word of my infamy travels faster and wider than I thought possible,_ Jaime realized.  “He’s done acts far worse than I, but seems mysteriously adept at avoiding his punishment.  And by witnessing this, I’d even say he’s more often rewarded.”

“..A trebuchet?”  Brienne turned to him.  The disillusionment he found in her eyes shook him to his core, as though some deep part of him crumbled to tiny, unsalvageable bits.

“I swore to Catelyn Stark I would not take up arms against--”

“Yet you threaten a man who’s lost everything with his only child’s life?  Jaime..”  He couldn’t fault the maid.  He’d found his words just as appalling when they fell from his own mouth, acting as his father’s golden puppet once more.

“Not quite everything.  Edmure still had his slippery fish of an uncle..” Jaime’s lame attempt at humor made even himself slightly sick.

Not surprisingly, Brienne found nothing else to say and the two of them had left Jaime in that dark corner, alone, to ruminate on past regrets.  Hours passed before Podrick approached, nervous and stuttering, saying no one had seen Hunt for far too long.

 

It wasn’t until he began to lace his thickest leather boots, pull on his heaviest coat and search for a dense fur to wrap around his shoulders that Brienne finally came to him.

“The winds are rapidly picking up and the snow falls harder.  Please stay.  Hunt knows he can’t face this winter alone,” her words were begging, but her voice steady.  Jaime simply shook his head.

“The man has annoyed me for a certainty, but it seems I owe him a debt.”  She only cocked her head in slight confusion before continuing her plea.

“We were foolish and he caught us.  He’ll come back once he realizes this storm has become too strong.”  But Jaime knew better.  _Men like Hunt never confront the Kingslayer as he did.  No, he does not mean to return._

“I don’t even know why the sight affected him as it did.  He never wanted anything but Tarth and Tarth..  Tarth is no longer mine to give..”  It was all she could bring herself to say as she sat gingerly on the antiquated wooden bench beside him, just far enough that no part of them touched.

“Then why didn’t he leave us behind long ago?  You place such little value on yourself.”

Brienne was devastatingly blind to the ways of men.  Always so cautious to question even the most genuine of acts.  The hedge knight cared for her deeper than even he likely realized, yet the undiscerning maid either hadn’t noticed at all, or simply chose not to.  But Jaime recognized the familiar longing gazes, the increasingly desperate jests, the jealousy hidden deep behind Hunt’s eyes.

Unexpectedly, he had even grown to pity the man.  For not long ago, he stood in that awful position, restricted only by a cloak of white.  But to be shunned for another seemed wholly unbearable.

For the briefest of seconds, his mind sorely turned to his twin in her golden curls and velvety crimson robes with generous breasts spilling craftily from a finely made bodice.  And then without hesitation to Lancel, to Kettleblack, and to even Moon Boy before he pushed the thought away.  Though he’d burned her plea long ago and declared her no better than dead, he knew Cersei haunted the back of his mind as some tiny, perfect, hidden piece, waiting for a weak moment to pounce.  And he hated her all the more for it.

_I’m a ghost of the man I was.  I would have only provided another body for Daenerys Targaryen to happily burn if I were there to fight._ Still, the thought nagged him in moments of vulnerability.  And as the winds whined and screamed, blowing soft bits of ice across his face, it felt as though the Stranger himself taunted him with frozen fingertips. 

His feet pushed further into the snow, creating deep holes among the perfect peaks of white, as he felt his body grow weak and his head dizzy.  Hastily, he reached for the small bag of rations Sansa had so sweetly packed for him.  He laboriously chewed on a tough piece of salted beef while pushing his feet ever forward, remembering the girl’s sad smile as she handed him the leather pouch.

“Funny that you’re the only family I have left,” she had said.

“Funny that I can say the same,” Jaime agreed, though Sansa reminded him nothing of most Lannisters, and he was thankful for it.  It had taken weeks, but the girl finally grew to tolerate his constant presence.  Tales of happier times growing up with Tyrion only seemed to have helped his cause.  _Glad my little brother treated her well_ , he thought, trying to avoid the extent to which he missed his sibling’s wit and company.

It frightened Jaime that the girl's time with Petyr Baelish made her more wary than even the Red Keep, the place where her father lost his head, where his rotten son had her beaten and destroyed, where she was forced into a loveless marriage with a family who conspired against her own.  For everyone in court knew of Little Finger’s fascination with Catelyn Stark, and poor Sansa was a close imitation of her younger days.  Jaime’s stomach churned when he thought of the possibilities.

“If you die, Ser, I may be the only lion remaning in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And for how long have you been the only wolf, my lady?  You’re far stronger than you know,” he placed a reassuring hand upon her shoulder and squeezed it as family might.  “Aside from that, you forget how many times I’ve escaped the Stranger’s kiss,” he said with a smile.  “I seem to have a knack for it.”  He accepted the neatly packed rations gratefully before turning to find Brienne in the doorway with unease written clearly across her face, and strands of wet hair falling across her worried eyes.  If she still dwelled on the news of the trebuchet, she didn’t let it show.

He stepped to her and embraced her hand, no longer caring who saw it.

“Please don’t go,” her voice barely a whisper as she stared at their fingers entwined.

“I will return.  Don’t doubt that.”

“Don’t risk your life for his stupidity.”  Podrick then appeared behind her, looking as though he’d begin to weep in an instant.  _They think me already dead,_ he thought, rather amused.  

Reverently, he pulled her to him and kissed her once, close-lipped and soft, in more a sweet brush than anything.  Still, Sansa and Podrick both turned away in embarrassment.

“I _will_ return,” he said again, with more conviction as their foreheads touched and her nose gently rubbed against his.

“Podrick!” he turned with a broad, unafraid grin, as the boy looked up, all red-faced and nervous.  “Look after these lovely ladies in my brief absence.”

With a final squeeze of her hand, he gathered his rations and furs before saddling his horse to head out into a storm he hardly found so threatening.

 

But now, as the cold pushed under his coat, through his heavy glove and straight to his bones, he wondered if he’d been too flippant, too cocky, thinking he could face a winter unlike any in written history.  And all for a man who vied for the woman he loved, a man who grated on his nerves as few others could, a man who suspected his intentions at every turn.  _The Kingslayer would have never chased after such a dolt.  The Kingslayer would have let the man die and later laughed at the tale._ But Jaime was the Kingslayer no longer.  He was a man, changed.  A man who loved more than fickle beauty, a man who paid his debts, but took no revenge, a man who asked for nothing in return.  And Hunt was the dolt who could have had everything but instead let him keep his head.

As if summoned by the thought, the hedge knight appeared before him, stiff and blue, but upright.

“Hunt!  You idiot!  Come back to the inn before the both of us die out here!”  But the hedge knight only lumbered further away.  Jaime quickened his pace, squashing tall piles of unsoiled white beneath his boots as he struggled forward through the blowing snow.  “Hyle Hunt, you lackwit!  I came all this way to save you from your death and lost my best horse along the way.  Do not let it be for naught!”

When Jaime drew close enough to reach him, Hunt jolted to face him.  His skin was some sickly shade of icy blue, his lips crusted with frost, his eyes nearly glass.  _This is Ser Hyle Hunt no longer_ , Jaime realized as he reached to unsheathe his sword.  But icy fingers lunged for his neck, clasping tight before he could remove the blade from his belt.  _He may take my head yet!_   Jaime thought as the grip tightened, forcing him to gasp for breath.  Air escaped his lungs, creating little clouds of mist that only served to remind him of the first time he had kissed Brienne under nothing but stars.  And with that thought, he forced his hand to reach for his sword and plunged it deep into the hedge knight’s belly.  The surprise the stab bought allowed just enough slack for Jaime to wiggle free of the monster’s grasp.  Hunt, however, didn’t fall to the ground as expected, and instead lunged after him again.  But this time, Jaime was ready.  Swiftly, he swung his sword up, cleanly cutting off both extended hands that crackled as they fell, like pieces of solid ice.

“Finally, someone with fewer hands than even I!” Jaime mocked to the mindless creature.  But Hunt only charged with more fury as he pushed them both back into the soft ice, burying them in nothing but cold and wet.  Jaime stabbed and stabbed at the man from beneath him, but the pricks only served to agitate him more.  So he wrestled and kicked, trying desperately, but only failing to remove himself from the icy embrace.  Until a flaming arrow hit Hunt in the back, forcing him to stand, writhe and roar until the flames engulfed him and he collapsed in the snow.

_Gods, what now?_ Jaime looked about to see two men ride up on horses, one wielding a torch, the other a shoddy bow.

“You alright?” the man with the bow called out.  Jaime lifted his head from the pile of snow and nodded.

“What was that?” he found himself asking unexpectedly.  Normally Jaime Lannister would be wary about giving away such ignorance, but seeing Hunt so lifeless, cold and senseless, pushed away his pride.

“Never seen a wight before?  You must not be from around here, then.  They grow more and more rampant in these parts each day,” the traveler shouted over frigid, groaning wind from atop his horse.  “They’re a fright, for sure, but nothing compared to their masters.”

“Masters?”

“Surely you’ve heard those scary tales of the Others?  Nasty creatures that come out in long winters and raise the dead?”  _Of course I’ve heard the ridiculous tales._

“Doubtless you only jest,” Jaime smiled, finally raising himself from the growing snow.

“Doubtless I don’t,” the man’s sincerity struck him like a swift slap across the cheek.  “Who are you anyway?  And what do you think you’re doing wandering around out here in the worst storm we’ve had this winter?”

“I was looking for him,” without thinking, Jaime pointed his stump toward Hunt’s frozen body.  “And it looks like I’ve rather unfortunately found him.. or whatever he has become.”

Warily, he noticed the man who held the torch focusing his gaze keenly on the shortened arm before leaning over to say something inaudible to his companion.  _They know who I am.  And they know what I’m worth._

Cautiously, he took two steps back as the men slowly approached, like hungry tigers upon weakened prey.

“You can only kill wights with fire,” the man holding the torch said as he swung his legs over his horse, pounding his feet into the snow.  The man with the bow  followed behind him.

“Fire?  And I thought my blade needed a good sharpening!”  The men drew closer, reaching for their swords, unsheathing steel nearly in unison as nothing but the blowing wind and falling snow of winter separated the three of them.  _With two hands, I could have taken them in an instant.  With just one, I may not come out alive,_ Jaime thought bitterly.

Without wasting another second, he tightened his grip on his own hilt and charged at them, hoping to take them by surprise with a blow of full-strength.  Briefly, he remembered his duel with Brienne--how he’d charged at her with that silly wooden stick, and overpowered her for a while with sheer force, until she gained the upper hand with endurance.  Only luck had allowed him to recover control before he futilely lost to his own desires.

He thought of her sinking in the untainted snow, cheeks red, smiling happily, like nothing else in the world mattered but the two of them.  And he thought on how he wouldn’t let himself die without seeing her stunning eyes again as he pulled his blade down on the traveler with the torch, slashing at his neck until a sea of red stained the the icy cushion at his feet and the man fell into it with a soft thud.  Jaime never felt so exhilarated.  

With a cocky smile, he turned to the other man who looked as though he may flee instead.  But Jaime rained blows upon him before he had the chance to run.  Steel crashed and clanged as he fell into step, feeling every bit as comfortable as he did before he lost his sword hand.

“Trying to kill a cripple?  How dishonorable,”  Jaime japed between blows.

“And what do you know of honor, Kingslayer?”  The man asked, breathless, barely able to dodge and parry the relentless attacks.

“More than most.”  His blade then shot up through the traveler’s belly almost startlingly.  And before he fell to the ground, Jaime watched as life leaked from his eyes, leaving him nothing but a bag of meat and bones.

“..Burn.. us..” the man managed to whisper before a pool of red spilled from his mouth like a grotesque waterfall.

_Burn them?  With what?_ The torch had died when it hit the snow and with barely enough strength to move his own feet, he certainly wasn’t dragging three bodies back to the inn.  _This is no time for silly funeral processions_ , Jaime thought as a gelid breeze blasted his face, reminding him that the travelers were the least of his concerns.

Despite the man’s confusing last words, Jaime felt his blood surging, his heart pounding and his confidence blooming when he pulled his blade clean from the body.  _I’m so close now.  So close to where I was before imprisonment, before the Bloody Mummers_ , he thought with a self-satisfied smile.  He tried to think of how proud Brienne would be when he told her.  She’d have that genuine, gratifying smile, like the one he’d expect to see given to a child just learning something new.  But Jaime wouldn’t care.

As he trudged through the snow toward the travelers’ horses, he felt his knees buckle and his strength give.  And suddenly, he knew beyond a doubt his body was much too spent to make the journey back.

_The Kingslayer, the Lion of Lannister,_ he thought, _handless and dying a Stark’s death while dreaming of only an ugly maid._ The whole thing sounded like an absurd joke and he laughed weakly, though the sound was lost among the loud wailing of wind.

When he looked up to the pale, frosty horizon once again, he saw his twin standing before him, naked, clean and slick, as though she’d just risen from the finest of golden bathtubs where endless handmaidens flitted about, scrubbing her back.  A condescending smirk tainted her perfect face as she looked down upon him, slumped over his waist, knee-deep in snow.  And she only laughed, mocking all his brave stupidity.  

Farther away stood Brienne, barely a tall silhouette amongst the blowing snow.  She appeared still, unmoved by the weight of winter that ruthlessly destroyed and buried the world around her.  And she said nothing, and only smiled with that aggravating self-conscious, half-lidded, hand-covered, but lovesick smile he felt deep in his bones. Even in the throes of icy torture, just the thought of her calmed him.

“I stand on the brink of death and still you remain so coy, wench?”

And then he collapsed, falling into a heap of endless snow, thinking only of the time ice melted about them as their lips sparred and his good hand pushed at her seemingly indomitable barriers.  Helplessly, he smiled, warm as a long summer’s eve, as his eyes fluttered closed and the icy grip of the Stranger tightened around his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about that, guys.. But it's kind of necessary for the next step I want to take in this series. (And --spoiler alert!--please note that I definitely did NOT check off the "Major Character Death" box in my tags, and for good reason! Well, except for Hyle..)
> 
> Now, just to add insult to injury, I should probably warn you that my life is insanely busy right now, so I may not be able to update as quickly as I'd like, and I do apologize for that. I just don't want to rush through my writing (or force myself to write when exhausted) and come up with something that isn't the quality I'm going for.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for sticking with this story. Hope you enjoyed it for the most part, anyway!


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